What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp?
Dare its deadly, terrors clasp.
(PS. Childhood poem I was taught,
never quite understood it or where
it came from. My relatives never told
I don't want riches. I don't want money. I don't want any of that. I just want the gradients of euphoria and I want them all the time. That's all. Why did I skew such vision and contorted them to this trival pursuit of a stake in the social ladder? Why did I exercise my mind with such fervor to divine the complexities of another man's work? For what purpose does this serve but to ensconce my existence in this world as a trivial comparison of trivial qualities? I'm tired of trying to answer my own confusion with some half-hearted, not carefully thought out, and impulsive analysis. I just want answers. How do I live easily in this li